


Closing Time

by TakeTheShot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Inspired by 'Closing Time' by Semisonic, Jasper is not Hydra, M/M, MCU cameos, Silly get-together fluff, background Brucetasha, cocktails, drinking shenanigans, my apologies to scotland, phlint - Freeform, rating for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 23:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeTheShot/pseuds/TakeTheShot
Summary: Clint and Natasha are leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. to join the Avengers officially.Phil can't possibly let them go without a party, can he?But after the party is over, there's something very particular (and muscled, and blonde and gorgeous) that he really ought to 'clear up'. Because if Phil isn't going to be Clint's handler anymore, what could he be?Inspired by the Semisonic song 'Closing Time'





	Closing Time

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I'm meant to be writing the next chapter of 'Find. (me.please.)' and for those of you who are kind enough to care, I am, honest, but I made the mistake of listening to music and this just arrived. If you haven't heard 'Closing Time' by Semisonic I do suggest listening to it, it really delivers the bittersweet/longing mind of mood I tried to capture these two having at this leaving party where they're meant to be parting ways.
> 
> The rest is just drunken silliness that made me smile, and the background Brucetasha is there just because they are so darn cute and Infinity War left them deserving so much better (imho anyway). If you don't like that ship, it's over in a few lines :)
> 
> And finally, I would like to make the disclaimer that Scotland is gorgeous, Edinburgh the nicest city I have ever visited, Kilts are stone-cold hot and Haggis is very yummy. (Honestly) Clint's opinions are entirely his own and he is in a bad mood at the time. Though he is right about the tunnels. They're bloody terrifying. And awesome. Go if you can!
> 
> I hope you enjoy my brief bout of insanity, comments and feedback always appreciated beyond anything x

>>===>>

"Clooooossssssing timeeeeee, oooppppeennn all th’ DOORS and leeet you ou’ iiiiiintooooo the WOOORRLD....." 

The well-lubricated voice rang out over the usual late night city buzz as Phil manhandled his drunk friend up the steps that led out of the basement bar and back to street level, "... turn all of the liiights ON oover evr’y BOY and eeevveeerrryyy GIRL... CLOsing timeeee...." Sitwell clutched Phil's arm and leaned back into a dramatic dip and wave combo, almost sending the two of them tumbling back down the stairs through the large plate-glass window and causing not a few giggles amongst the rest of the SHIELD agents leaving the bar. “One last call for aaallllc’h’l,” He leaned close to Phil’s nose and serenaded him almost quietly “so fiiiinnish y’r WHISKEY or beeeeeerrrrr….Closing TIME…”  
Phil recoiled from the potent fruity fumes wafting out of the grinning mouth. 

"Yes Jasper" Phil grunted, finally wrestling his lively burden back up onto the street, "I know the song.” Sitwell wobbled and burped. “Come on Jas, it really is closing time, now straighten up or we won't find a single cab willing to take you back where you belong." He frowned as Sitwell blinked owlishly in the brighter street lights. "Jas, will you be alright to get home?" Not that he didn't have plans, or at least tentatively hope that he might be able to get plans, but the free cocktail bar had been his idea so abandoning Sitwell to a murky fate at the hands of late night New York would hardly be fair. He hesitated, then offered, "Do you want to wait and I'll come with you?" 

A cool voice from behind saved Sitwell from having to remember how to speak in coherent sentences. 

"It's okay boss, I'll take him. We can drop him off on the way round to the tower."  
"Natasha", Phil sighed, relieved, "that's very kind, thank you."  
He turned to smile at his rescuer who looked very much as she had when she'd arrived at the bar hours ago, dress uncrumpled and hair still perfectly in place even though Phil knew he'd seen her hitting the both the cocktail bar and the dance floor with as much energy as everyone else during the evening. How did she do it? It must be one of those Russian things. 

"It’s no problem he's on our way. It won't take us long, right?"  
She looked past Phil into the shadows as she spoke and he was forced to wonder if it was perhaps actually one of those 'making an impression' things, as Bruce Banner emerged from the bar steps and went past him to stand next to Natasha, looking as rumpled as always but with his usual restrained smile showing perhaps just a tiny extra dash of twinkle,  
"It's fine with me, as long as you know the way, this is hardly my neighbourhood." At Phil's puzzled look he shrugged, "I’m her designated driver, my car’s down the street. I didn't think the other guy and a free cocktail bar were a good mix."  
Phil nodded. "Good call Doctor Banner. And if you're happy to take this home," Phil gestured at Sitwell now swaying droolingly against his shoulder and happily mumbling the song, "that would be great. I do have some things to clear up downstairs."

Natasha's grin glittered wickedly, "You most definitely do, Agent Coulson, you most definitely do. Come on Sitwell." Slinging one loose arm over her shoulders she hoisted Sitwell's weight away from Phil. "Bruce, give me a hand." Banner hurried to take Sitwell’s other arm and he hung between them, limp as wet washing and still warbling quietly. 

They stepped away, then Natasha paused and flopped Sitwell wholly onto Banner who staggered under the sudden weight. She made it back to Phil's side at a speed that belied the height and deadliness of her heels and dropped a brief but very warm kiss to his cheek. He blinked in surprise. "It was a wonderful party Phil, thank you. Now, for God's sake, go and 'clean up' before my sanity and patience are permanently damaged. It's time, yes?" And before he could react she squeezed his arm in a way that was just this side of too tight, slinked her way back to relieve Banner, and then the three of them were making their way down the street with a somewhat dignified swaying walk, Sitwell's tune floating back to reach him,  
"yoooooooo don’t HAVE to gooo h’me but you CAN’t STaaaaay heeeerrreee… " 

Phil stood, stunned for a second, then drew a shaking breath. He hadn't the energy to even pretend he didn't know what she meant. The scarily appropriate chorus of Jas’ song hummed through his mind as he went back down the steps.

_‘I know who I want to take me home,_  
I know who I want to take me home,  
I know who I want to take me home,  
take me home.’ 

At basement level Phil re-entered the bar, nodding his thanks to the S.H.I.E.L.D agents who had stood security for the evening. Inside, the lights were gradually coming back up to reveal the full extent of the carnage wrought by having some two dozen assorted spies, assassins, specialists and Avengers in close proximity to a free cocktail bar and DJ request booth for several hours.

It really wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. 

The ‘Good Luck Hawkeye and Widow’ banner which he’d carefully strung across the dancefloor that afternoon was hanging a little crooked, probably due to Natasha’s insistence on Clint showing off a few of his fancier circus moves including, apparently, some tightrope work but, well, that was why Phil had used such strong hooks and climbing grade rope in the first place, he knew his assets and no-one could say he was not prepared. A sad heap of coloured tissue in the corner was all that remained of the Iron Man piñata that Stark had insisted on supplying, and if the new boy Ward had caught a glancing blow or two from the beribboned stick then it was his fault for standing too close to the cardboard that was coming between May and the decadent Godiva chocolates that Pepper had whispered it contained. To be honest, the damn thing must have had Stark-tech armour in it to have stood up as long as it did, especially when Bobbi Morse got her batons out. Which Phil called cheating, and she called resourcefulness. He supposed it didn’t matter, given that everyone had had fun beating the little image (weirdly, even Stark himself had taken a good few whacks at it) it had been a good idea despite the undignified scramble that had occurred when papier-mâché Tony’s head had finally exploded and usually stoic agents had gone a little crazy over miniatures of 30 year-old scotch, the aforementioned chocolates and whatever those jiggly looking things in the red and gold wrappers were. 

Phil really didn’t want to know. 

But, as, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s clean up crew, jokingly known as the ‘D.D.’ or ‘Discretion Department’ would be along in a few minutes to wipe both the tables and the CCTV footage of the evening there was only one thing left for Phil to clear up. And it was sitting at the bar still, staring morosely into a glass that had so many umbrellas and pieces of fruit in it that that it probably counted more as home décor or a meal than an actual drink. 

He ran suddenly damp palms down his trouser legs, steeled himself and walked over to the slumped figure.

“Well, that’s everyone but us Barton.” he said as brightly and steadily as he could manage, “Natasha just left with Doctor Banner and, I know, they live in the same tower but I think they ‘left together’ if you know what I mean. We’ll have to keep an eye on that, because there is a pairing that could brighten the universe or doom the planet, am I right?”  
There was no response from the man at the bar. Phil reached out a hand and shook a shoulder gently.  
“Barton. Hey, Barton, it’s closing time. Time to go.”

Without looking up Clint took a large, unsteady breath and let it out in a heavy sigh that ended with, “No.”  
Phil slid onto the next stool. “No?”  
“No.”  
“No to what? No to closing time? No to time to go? No to……?”  
“No to all of it.”  
“Okaayyy. No to all of it.” Phil chuckled, shaking his head a little. He didn’t think Clint had had that many cocktails tonight. “Any particular reason for the unhelpfully blanket negative right now Barton? You enjoyed the party that much?”  
“The party was great. But mmpfmmllbbleefggmn” the second sentence was lost as Clint bent his head further to find is straw and suck up a mouthful of whatever concoction it was he was drinking.  
“Run that past me again?” Clint carried on sucking the straw, drawing in the cocktail like it was oxygen. Phil frowned and leaned over to flick it out from between Clint’s teeth, spraying him with violently-orange drops. “What is the matter with you?”  
“Hey!” Clint protested, but Phil shrugged it off.  
“Oh like you aren’t covered already from that stunt with the beer tray and Pepper’s high heels. Seriously, Barton, for those of us who don’t speak late-night-drunk, what did you just say?”  
Clint sighed again. “I _said_ I’m not going.”  
“We have to.”  
“I’m not.”  
“Well, we have to.”  
“Well, I’m not!”  
“Barton,” Phil was becoming exasperated. This was not going as he’d hoped. “What are you playing at? It’s late, the party is finished and we all have to go home. Why are you behaving like a brat? Did you have too many mimosas? Not enough pizza? Are you annoyed that it was Thor and not you who ended the piñata? What?”  
“Boss.” Clint finally looked up and Phil was shocked to see that his eyes were red-rimmed and not in the ‘too much free booze’ way. “Sir. It just…well. It didn’t seem real until now. But if I go home, if the party is done, then it’s over. I’m not a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore.”  
“Oh.” Sliding his stool a little closer Phil said, mildly, “That can’t exactly be a surprise, we’ve spent the last fortnight wrapping up your aliases and doing your exit paperwork.”  
“I know.”  
“And you do get to be an Avenger. The new team seem like good people. And you can hardly stay undercover when you’re going to be an action figure. And a t-shirt, and a mug and a keyring and a hat and a plushie and god knows what else.” He expanded the list trying to wring a smile out of his agent, “You’ll even get to be a bath foam dispenser probably.”  
“I know.” Clint didn’t sound any more cheered.  
Phil played what he hoped would be his trump card. “And Natasha will still be with you.”  
“I know.” There was a long pause and another sigh. “But you won’t.”  
“Me?” Phil did not squeak. Honestly. He might have gasped a bit, but he did not squeak.  
“You. When I leave this party, I’ll leave S.H.I.E.L.D. and you won’t be my handler anymore.” Clint stared back down into his glass again, giving it a troublingly-endearing mix of death-glare and puppy-dog eyes. “It’s over. And that sucks.”  
“Oh.”  
“Yep.”  
Natasha was right as usual. It was time. Time and past time.  
Phil cleared his throat. “Clint, do you remember Edinburgh?”  
Though Clint didn’t move, Phil had spent enough time watching the lines of his body to see the sudden tension at Phil’s use of his first name. He tried to hide it. “You mean the first time with the banshee thingy, or the second time after that crap at Loch Ness, because we’ve hit Scotland a few…”  
“You know perfectly well which time.” Phil interrupted. “Edinburgh, the third time.”  
“The third time?”  
“The third time.”  
Clint’s head slowly lifted until his eyes met Phil’s, tired, wary but with the tiniest hint of sparkle. “I thought you’d forgotten that.”

**\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

_The tunnels under Edinburgh Old Town were crumbling and damp and dark as the backside of hell. Phil and Clint were holed up in some old tomb or storehouse or brewery or whatever these damn caves had been used for, nothing but an ancient wooden door between them and the army of genetically modified rats they’d been hunting down. The evil things were the size of small spaniels, had glow in the dark coats in a ridiculous tartan-ish pattern and teeth as appropriately sharp as sgian-dubh. Apparently the students responsible for creating them had a sense of heritage much larger than their sense of social responsibility, not to mention a twisted sense of humour._

_What had begun as a simple ‘investigate and report back’ mission had quickly turned into a demented chase through tunnels, cellars, old streets and catacombs in the pitch black. Phil’s suit was ruined, Clint was very much out of arrows and more rat beasts were arriving every minute if the growing glow under the door was anything to go by. The scrabbling of vicious claws on wood just kept getting louder._

_“Can you see anything?” Phil kept his voice low._  
_“Not a fucking thing.” Clint panted, “No way out, no handholds, no hidey-holes and nothing to even hit the fuckers with. My quiver is completely empty and I doubt I can throttle enough of them with the bow string to make a difference. There’s fucking hundreds of them. You?”_  
_“Gun’s empty almost. I have maybe two shots left in this clip and one full clip left. Not that I’ll get chance to change the clip once those damn things get in here.”_  
_“Fuck. I hate this fucking country!” The sound of a stone ricocheting off the walls as Clint went into a very uncharacteristic rant. “It rains all the fucking time, this city is built like a drunk wandered into the planning department and fucked up all the plans, it smells fucking weird not to mention it has a damn nightmare-style death-maze underneath it which is probably full of murdered assholes in man-skirts and their fucking ghosts, they serve me fucking body parts at a dinner we’re meant to be the guests of honour at and now this.”_  
_“It was haggis, not body parts.”_  
_“Anything that has to be minced until I can’t tell what it was and then gets fucking boiled in a fucking sheep’s stomach is fucking body parts.”_  
_“It’s a national delicacy”_  
_“It’s a disgusting ball of shit.”_  
_“Barton, in all seriousness, we’re about to get killed and probably eaten by a bunch of carnivorous rodents, do we really have time to discuss cuisine?”_  
_There was a pause and then Clint, voice much smaller, asked, “You think it’s that bad?”_  
_“We’ve no ammo, no escape route, we’re vastly outnumbered and nobody knows where we are. I think it’s that bad, yes.”_  
_“Shit.”_  
_“Yes.”_

_Another pause and then the sudden sound of desperate, fumbling movement was followed by Phil’s surprised gasp as Clint grabbed hold of him in the dark and clumsily mashed their faces together, finding Phil’s lips more by luck than by judgement and pressing them with his own in a dry frantic kiss. Phil froze stiff and Clint took no more than a second to register it before letting go and stepping back. “Shit, sorry, you don’t want…”_  
_“Don’t tell me what I want.” Phil lunged forward into the black, hands grabbing at whatever he could find and pulling Clint back to him firmly, meeting his mouth in a hot and demanding slide of tongue and teeth and hard, wet, want until they both had to break away to pant into each other’s skin, foreheads touching each, holding the other up._  
_Eventually, “Wow,” Clint gasped._  
_“I agree.”_  
_“I just thought,” and Phil could almost see the cheeky smirk creeping onto his face, “I had to do that, just once. Given that we’re about to die.”_  
_Phil sucked hard at the stale air and searched for Clint’s mouth again, “It seems a sound plan, given that we’re about to die…”_  
_The second, even messier and more glorious, kiss was interrupted by a harsh blaze of light under the door, the sound of thumps, pained squealing and a sudden stench of burned hair. Incongruously, the commotion was followed by silence and then a polite knocking._  
_“Boys? Are you in there?”_  
_“Natasha?” Clint was incredulous. “I thought you were in London?”_  
_“I got finished early.”_  
_“How did you find us?”_  
_“You think I fitted tracking devices to you for no reason?” She snorted. “Now come on, these little bastards aren’t going to stay stunned forever. I have a quiver full of arrows for you and new clips for Phil plus my Widow’s bite but there are enough of them that we can’t hang around talking._  
_Phil smiled “You’re a walking miracle Romanov.”_  
_“I certainly am. Get out here!”_  
_“On our way.”_

_Phil straightened but Clint’s fist tightened in his jacket. “Coulson, Phil…what just happened….”_  
_“Clint, we can’t.” Phil shook his head, voice tight, laden with regret, “Not now. It’s too complicated, we’re Agents. I’m your handler, there are rules…”_  
_“And if there weren’t, what would it mean? If you weren’t my handler?”_  
_Phil had never heard such a desperate note in Clint’s voice, not even those times when he’d been strung up for torture. It matched the one in his own. “Clint Barton, the second I am not your handler I will take you to my home, to my room to my bed and show you exactly how much you mean to me until you beg for a rest. I promise. Alright? The very **second**. But right now, we have to try and survive this bloody plaid-patterned nightmare. Okay?”_  
_“Okay.” The smirk was tentatively back. “The second. Works for me.”_  
_“Boys!” Natasha was starting to sound very annoyed, “These little fuckers are stirring and I’ve got ground crew prepped to gas these tunnels in less than five minutes. So, if you want to live to Highland Fling another day, get a damn move on!”_  
_Both Phil and Clint were anxious to avoid adding an annoyed Russian assassin to their list of things to deal with for the day and called in unison, “Coming!” before commencing another breakneck run through pitch-dark tunnels and up to Natasha’s extraction point._

_Phil had meant to sort it, a conversation, a transfer, a date. He had meant to._

_But then Clint got badly bitten by the one rodent who was good at faking dead, Phil slowed to help him limp over the uneven floor and then they both sucked down a good lungful of poisoned gas which led to a lengthy stay in medical._

_Then Phil was assigned to babysit Stark, then there was New Mexico, then Project Pegasus, then the Tesseract and then Loki. Especially bloody gods-damned mother-fucking Loki. And then more time in medical and psyche for them both, and then Phil’s long road back to as much as desk duty and then Clint’s official Avengers appearances, and then and then and then and fucking then._

_But, now…_

**\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

“I thought you’d forgotten that,” Clint repeated in a tone Phil wasn’t sure he could interpret, “Edinburgh was almost two years ago.”  
“I don’t forget important things.”  
“You never mentioned it.”  
“Nor did you.”  
“It’s been a busy fucking year.”  
“It very much has.” Phil agreed. “The thing is though Clint…the thing is, you’re right. Once this party is over, you’re no longer an Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and I’m no longer your handler.” Cautiously and so, so slowly Phil moved his hand along the bar until it slid up and over Clint’s, covering but barely touching it, as if it were some kind of precious and delicate butterfly that mustn’t be crushed. He swallowed hard. “So, if you remember Edinburgh, like I remember Edinburgh, then…” he let the thought trail off, leaving a space for Clint to fill.

Clint blinked up at him for a long second then suddenly whipped his hand away from under Phil’s, almost leapt off the stool and stalked out of the bar without a backwards glance, leaving a stunned Phil staring at the remains of the ridiculous drink, still sloshing with the speed of Clint’s exit. 

Oh.

Well.

Shit.

Damn.

_Fuck._

Phil’s heart and stomach sank.

He was about to slump down onto Clint’s stool and see how much alcohol remained under all that decoration and fruit when he heard hollow-sounding tapping.  
“Coulson. Hey, Coulson!”

His name came from somewhere sounding weird and far away. Turning, Phil saw Clint through the window, halfway up the stairs outside the bar, clinging to the railing precariously and stretching almost upside down to tap on the glass.  
“Coulson! Dammit…Phil! _Phil_!”

In a daze, Phil rose and made his way outside to see Clint waiting, arms folded and and grinning gorgeously, stunning even in the lurid neon light of the bar’s sign. As Phil reached the bottom of the stairs he folded his arms and pouted. “Now look, I left, the party’s over, shouldn’t you be taking me somewhere? Because this feels like a lot more than a second….oof”

Phil cut the joke off by dashing up the steps and claiming Clint’s mouth with his own with a violence that almost sent him tumbling back down and through the window for the second time that evening. Clint grabbed Phil’s jacket to steady them both and chuckled against the kiss, the laugh turning to a sincere groan when Phil licked his way hungrily into his mouth to capture and suck on his tongue. They stayed that way for long seconds, totally ignoring the incredulous looks of the security guards, tongues, teeth and lips moving slickly together, hands roaming, stroking and exploring, both of them clinging on for dear life and riding the wave of desire rising up between them. Eventually Phil broke away and brought a shaky hand up to cup Clint’s face.  
“I thought…..”  
Clint huffed out an unsteady laugh. “Yeah well, so did I.”  
“We were both wrong then.” Phil couldn’t stop the smile. He moved past and up a step, one hand trailing round Clint’s waist, up his shoulder, along his arm over his wrist, never breaking contact until they were holding hands firmly. “Let’s get out of here, hey?  
Clint walked a few steps up, then stopped and glanced a bit wistfully back into the bar at the carnage of his leaving party. “I guess it really is over then.”  
Phil squeezed his hand. “This part isn’t. Not by a long way.” He allowed heat to bleed into his voice, “Clint. Don’t I have a promise to keep?”  
The speed at which Clint turned would have given a normal man whiplash, “Ohhh, you do. You most definitely do.” He hurried and hustled a laughing Phil up the steps, back onto street-level and began towing him firmly down the street, their hands warm and clasped. Under the jubilant yelling filling his head, Phil could almost hear the final lyrics of Jasper’s song ringing out in affirmation. 

_‘Closing time,  
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end’_

He fell easily into step with Clint as the two of them set off down the block under the early-morning’s light-streaked sky, leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. to clear up what was finished, setting out together to find out what came next.


End file.
